Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was dark outside when Trevor parked his truck outside the big house. At first he'd been doubtful, seeing how the place looked better than he'd expected, expensive, with a pool and even a tennis court, but he'd been keeping his eyes on the property for the past couple of hours, and he'd recognized her. But he'd waited, hoping the kids would be asleep by now; they didn't need to see what he anticipated would be a tense reunion.

He got his duffel bag and walked up to the door. The doorbell echoed in the otherwise silent home, and then he heard footsteps approaching. Heels while she was home alone. He shook his head. She hadn't changed.

Amanda opened the door, her annoyed expression turning into shock as she recognized him. "Trevor?" She asked in disbelief, and he made his way inside without waiting for an invitation.

"You're a fucking pain in the ass to track down, you know that?" He informed her, looking around, impressed. If the outside hadn't been enough proof, the decor made it clear she was doing a lot better than he'd imagined.

Amanda followed him in, agitated. "What are you doing here? Get out!" She said, but he ignored her. "Someone has to be a father figure to these kids, and it sure won't be whatever pool boy you're screwing." He took an educated guess, but his tone soon turned from mocking to more serious. "Someone has to tell them stories about their dad, make sure they remember him."

Amanda's lips thinned, and she looked troubled. "Trevor, you should leave."

He understood her reluctance, but he had changed since the last time they'd seen each other. He remembered her at the funeral, he'd been observing from a distance having spotted the FIB agents that were no doubt hoping he'd show up.

"I'm clean!" He confessed. "For the first time in God knows how long, I'm clean. It wasn't easy and it wasn't pretty, but I did it for them."

I did it for him was implied, but he didn't need to say it, she knew.

"I don't have much money, turns out it's difficult to run a meth lab when you're detoxing. But at least it's something." He said, taking out a wad of money he'd saved from some jobs he'd been running, though he wondered whether she really needed it given the house she was living in. How had she gotten that wealthy in such a short time? Had Michael left her a lot more than Trevor imagined? Maybe she'd remarried, Trevor reasoned, a rich older guy, but he wouldn't judge her too harshly for moving on so fast, anything to provide for the kids.

"And I have these." He continued, taking out of his bag a bunch of polaroids, held together with elastics and strings. Some of those were as recent as the week before that fateful last hit, some went back to just months after they'd first met, kids that didn't quite know what they were doing.

There were other pictures he'd left at his place, more intimate ones he wouldn't share with anyone, let alone Amanda or the kids, and he cherished them just as much as he cherished the memories, that faded with every passing day - he supposed he had a few substances to thank for that.

"Please, Trevor. Just go." Amanda was begging him now, an unreadable expression on her face, but just as he was about to reply, he heard a young voice coming from the staircase behind him. "Uncle T?"

"Hey, Jimmy! I missed you, buddy." Trevor said, smiling as he turned around, but his expression fell. There, just behind a taller-than-he-remembered Jimmy, and staring at him like a deer in headlights, stood a dead man.

Chapter Text

"I watched you die." Trevor just said, feeling the world collapse all around him. He felt more than just betrayed, he felt mocked, toyed with, but most of all he felt stupid; he'd spent the past year replaying that terrible moment in his mind, blaming himself, mourning Michael, regretting all the things he'd been too much of a coward to say…

Michael had the decency of looking guilty, avoiding his gaze. "I'm sorry." 

Amanda had brought Jimmy back to his room, and they were alone now, the tension between them so quiet that Trevor thought he might hear Michael's heart beat.

"You're sorry? You cut a deal! You let me believe you were dead, I had to watch you bleed out!" He'd lost count of how many nights he'd woken up screaming, that image still so vivid in his mind.

"I did it for the kids, okay?" Michael tried to explain. "When I didn't have a family it was easier, I didn't have to worry so much about consequences, about who I'd leave behind if something happened to me. But I was offered an easy way out, a new life, and no jail time."

"You just left me behind." Trevor reminded him. It hurt, maybe even more than his 'death' had.

"The FIB was watching me. I'd have reached out eventually-" Michael started saying, but Trevor wouldn't let him finish. "Don't." He stopped him, his voice cold and serious. "Don't lie to me, we both know you ain't good at it."

He didn't want Michael's pity. He wanted the truth. "You didn't trust me enough to let me know you were alive. What, were you afraid I'd be pissed, want revenge?"

Michael said nothing, he just avoided his gaze. That's how Trevor knew. "You were, weren't you? You didn't trust me then and you still don't trust me now!"

Michael sighed. "You never liked Amanda, and you saw the kids as something that made me worse at the job." He just said, matter of factly, and the implication in his words hit Trevor like a punch.

"You really think I'd hurt them, then you don't know me." He just said, hoping the anger he felt was enough to mask the hurt in his voice. Was that what Michael thought of him?

Michael chuckled bitterly. "Yeah, because you've never hurt innocent people before! You have never killed anyone just because you liked it, you sick fuck!"

Unable to control his rage, Trevor stepped closer to Michael and slammed his fist on the wall behind him, effectively cornering Michael. "Not your kids! I watched them grow up, they called me uncle for fuck's sake. I cared about them! Still do!"

Michael had flinched but hadn't tried to get away from him, but there was a hint of fear in his eyes. Trevor almost wanted to punch him. "I'm nor sure I want to hurt you, Mikey, but if I did, I can promise you I wouldn't touch them. You on the other hand… you'd deserve it."

For a moment they were both sure something was going to happen, the tension too high to leave unsettled. But then Trevor just stepped back, shaking his head. It wasn't worth it. "I'll tell you what. You wanted to be dead that much, I'll start treating you like it."

With those words he left, grabbing his money but leaving behind the pictures that until an hour earlier he'd considered his most precious possession. It was time to let go of those memories, of that ghost that wasn't much of a ghost at all it'd turned out.

As he drove away he cursed how stupid he'd been, how naive. Everything he'd believed had been nothing but lies. All the time and resources it had taken him to track down Amanda, all the speeches he'd prepared to explain to his kids what a great guy their father had been… Nothing mattered anymore. 

He grabbed his phone and dialed a number he hadn't needed in months.

"Hey, Chef. I was wondering if your kitchen was still open. I'd like to come over, buy some pastry." He wanted something strong, something that would burn right through his brain, erase all memories of his so-called best friend.

"If it isn't Trevor Philips! Last I heard you were on a diet."

"You know me, I have too much of a sweet tooth to quit." He wanted to waste all the money he'd planned on giving to his widow and orphans on some high quality painkillers, something that would manage to numb him.

"Swing by any time, I have something good for you."

"I'll be seeing you soon." He wanted to stop thinking.

Chapter Text

Trevor had tried any drug he'd ever used and a few he had missed out on, he'd even tried combinations, anything to numb his pain. That had gone on for two weeks more or less - it's hard to keep track of time when you're high out of your mind - and had effectively worked for about half that time. Initially he'd wanted to keep on with it until he'd felt better, then he simply ran out of drugs, and buying more seemed pointless; nothing he'd tried had made reality more bearable when he came down, nothing had fried his brain quite enough for him to forget the betrayal and how much it hurt.

Months before he'd wanted nothing more than to forget Michael was dead, now he wanted nothing more than to believe that again.

Since he'd run out of substances, Trevor had opted for a much cheaper substitute, and as he got up, he downed the half empty bottle of Pißwasser on the table. He meant to get another one from the fridge, but then a knock came from the door. Trevor wasn't expecting visitors, and the people in Sandy Shores knew better than to bother him. 

He didn't know if he wished it was Michael, but before he could make up his mind about it, the familiar voice came. "I know you're in there, T. Open up."

With a sigh, Trevor made it to the door. There was no point in stalling, he wasn't going to let Michael out and risk him leaving.

"Ah, look. A ghost." He said bitterly as they were face to face once again.

"You weren't difficult to find." And yet, Michael had managed to avoid him for a full year, funny that.

"Here to haunt me?" Trevor asked mockingly, but truth was he would like that, to always have Michael with him.

Michael didn't answer, instead just looked at him sadly. Trevor didn't look too good, but he'd been expecting that; he'd always been harsher on himself than on others, and instead of taking out his anger on Michael, he was punishing himself for having been foolish enough to believe his elaborate lies, and now that he saw the effect his actions had had on Trevor, Michael hated himself for the coward choices he'd made.

"You told Amanda you were clean." He pointed out, but it didn't sound accusatory, just disappointed. Trevor grinned, but it was less friendly and more predatory, and as he spoke his voice was resentful. "I was. I ain't anymore."

Michael's expression looked almost guilty, but Trevor knew better than to believe he cared by now. Michael had fooled him enough.

No, the only way it'd make sense for Michael to show up at his doorstep was if he truly still believed Trevor might want revenge in the form of hurting his family. Friendship wasn't the reason Michael was there, martyrdom was. This was nothing but Michael's way of sacrificing himself, to make sure that if Trevor wanted to hurt someone, that someone would be him, not his wife, not his children.

Back in North Yankton Trevor had enjoyed the look of fear on Michael's face, especially when he was the reason for it, but now he was just tired. "I told you, I won't come back to hurt your family." He said, without a bite in his voice. "You can go back to your new life in Los Santos, you're safe."

But Michael didn't move, and it infuriated Trevor. "Fucking leave!" He insisted. "You're good at that, I should know."

It seemed to hit Michael suddenly and violently that Trevor didn't want to see him ever again. His best friend, his oldest friend, his only friend if he was honest with himself. He knew he'd fucked up when he left him, he'd started regretting that decision just a couple of months into his new life as Michael De Santa, but he'd tried to convince himself he just missed the adrenaline rush the criminal life gave him. In reality Michael knew he could be happy without crime in his life, but without Trevor… The idea alone sent a cold shiver down his spine and an unbearable emptiness in his chest, a sense of dread, and without thinking twice, Michael threw himself at Trevor, his hands grabbing at him through his sweaty, dirty clothes, but Michael didn't care. He was desperate, he needed to feel Trevor's body against his, afraid that if he didn't hold him tight, he might slip away.

"I'm sorry-" He said weakly, but he couldn't finish the sentence cause suddenly Trevor was grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him closer into a kiss.

Trevor tasted like food gone bad and cheap alcohol, but it was a familiar taste, and Michael wanted more. The kiss was rough and getting rougher, teeth biting lips and tongues, hands sliding underneath clothes and nails clawing at skin, growls and moans filling the trailer.

"I'm sorry." Michael said again as they parted to catch their breath again. Trevor knew he expected some sort of forgiveness, but he wasn't ready yet, he wondered if he'd ever be. Instead Trevor grabbed him roughly by the neck and slammed him against the wall. "I'm still fucking angry at you!" He assured him, and for a moment they just stared at each other, breathing heavily, unsure what would happen next.

Then Trevor's grip lessened, and his expression softened. "But I'm just happy you're here." He confessed. "I'd rather you be a traitor than a dead man." 

They didn't need more words than that, not now. Their bodies would do all the talking.

Trevor walked towards the bedroom, and Michael followed. He would have made a teasing comment about the state of the place Trevor was living in, but right now Trevor could throw him to the filthy floor and Michael would still have eyes for him only.

Trevor's hands were back on Michael soon, unbuttoning his shirt, and Michael started doing the same, but after he took off his shirt, Trevor noticed Michael was staring at his arm, looking taken aback by the tattoo of his name on Trevor's skin. Gently, Michael reached out, caressing the skin with something close to reverence. "I didn't think you cared that much about me." He said sincerely, his voice sounding small and soft all of a sudden.

Trevor scoffed. "Oh a liar too!" 

But Michael shook his head. "No, just an idiot." He corrected him, then leaned in closer to kiss Trevor's arm, slowly making his way from the ink to Trevor's shoulder, his neck, then up until he reached his mouth again.

They finished getting out of their clothes, then Trevor roughly threw Michael on the bed, grabbing some lube from the nightstand before straddling him. He poured some on his hand and reached down to stroke them both, the other hand coming up to grab Michael's wrists and hold them still above Michael's head. The grip was loose, they both knew Michael could easily get out of it, but it didn't matter; Michael had no intention to disappoint. Trevor took a moment to just look him up and down, and Michael felt how Trevor's cock pressed against his own grew harder.

When Trevor's hand finally sped up, the pace he set was desperate and merciless, his strokes sloppy, but Michael didn't need his technique to be spectacular, just the fact that it was Trevor doing it for him. There was something about having Trevor's face just inches from his own, his warm breath on his face, Trevor the only thing he could see, like there was nothing else in the universe but the man on top of him, and maybe there really wasn't.

"I missed you." Michael whispered, the closest thing to the truth that he could manage to say, and Trevor's expression changed slightly, telling Michael he'd heard the word he hadn't said. His grip tightened and his strokes were faster now, his hip thrusts more erratic, and Michael threw his head back and closed his eyes.

"No." Trevor grunted. "Look at me." He said, and it sounded enough like an order to push Michael over the edge, and, with his eyes open and fixed on Trevor, he came on his own stomach, Trevor grinning proudly at the sight.

After that it didn't take long for Trevor to jerk himself to completion, and Michael watched him come undone above him, before his legs finally gave in and Trevor collapsed, his full weight suddenly on top of Michael, but he didn't mind. Closeness was good, after all that time apart.

After Trevor had rolled off him, Michael got up to go wash himself in the bathroom, but he noticed in the corner of his eyes how Trevor tensed as he stood up. "Relax, I'm not going anywhere." He assured him, but the reminder of how much distrust was still between them hurt.

As he came back to the bed, he laid down as close to Trevor as he could, then rested his head on his chest and an arm across his stomach. He sighed satisfied and despite the slightly uncomfortable position, Michael knew he could easily fall asleep there, to the steady beat of Trevor's heart.

"This won't work." Trevor said after a while, running his hand through Michael's hair. As he spoke, Michael felt his chest rise and fall. He didn't need Trevor to say more to know what he meant. "Not with that attitude, it won't." He disagreed.

"You have a wife, remember her? The woman you abandoned me for?" Trevor pointed out, and Michael sighed. "She's the mother of my children, T. But she's not been much more than that lately." He confessed. "You were right about the pool boy, but it doesn't stop there. The tennis coach, the yoga instructor, Tracey's art teacher… And these are just the ones I know about."

"You don't sound too bothered about it."

"I don't blame her. She's just looking for something I haven't been able to give her." They were still not looking at each other, both staring towards the turned off tv. It felt easier to open up that way, without eye contact. "I haven't been a model husband either." Michael confessed. He'd try to sound embarrassed about it if he didn't know Trevor could see through it.

Trevor just cackled. "Who would have thought, the womanizer and the prostitute he married went back to womanizing and prostituting!"

Michael muttered something in reply, but it was too quiet for Trevor to hear it. "What was that?"

"It's not women." Michael repeated, louder. "I've been hooking up with some men lately… I thought that was what I missed. But it wasn't just any man that I needed."

Trevor nodded, pensive. "Were they good?"

Michael just shrugged. "They weren't you." 

"Yeah, I know the feeling. No one was quite like you for me either."

They didn't have to say it out loud, it was obvious they'd both missed each other. Neither of them wanted this to stop.

"You really think we can do this? Us?" Trevor asked. "Good things ain't meant for people like us, Mikey."

Michael lifted himself on his elbow and turned to look at Trevor, seriousness in his voice as he spoke. "It can't be night the whole time." 

Trevor eyed him quizzically.

"Revenge of the Raven." Michael said as explanation. Trevor smiled. "Figures you'd still be quoting movies."

Speaking of… 

"There's a new Solomon Richards movie coming out soon. Thought of you when I heard they were making it. Want to go see it together?" 

He'd burned down every single billboard ad of it that he'd seen; if Michael couldn't watch it, why even bother to make the damned thing?

Michael looked at him confused. "You hate his movies."

"But you love them." Trevor pointed out. 

The rest of that sentence remained unsaid, but Michael heard it loud and clear. He smiled. Maybe they could make it work after all.